


Cruise | Improbable

by beyondcanon



Series: Cruise [7]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 18:58:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3300173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyondcanon/pseuds/beyondcanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life goes on, right? Maybe not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cruise | Improbable

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my [prompt challenge](http://beyondcanon.tumblr.com/tagged/ma%27s-prompt-challenge) on Tumblr. Some stories will be posted on AO3; this is one of them.
> 
> This verse is officially closed.

No regrets, right?

Quinn loses the bet, of course, and she’ll have to do Santana’s laundry for a whole month and call her mistress at all times.

It’s a pretty grand time. Probably.

She leaves the boat without checking if Brittany’s anywhere to be seen.

She doesn’t even care.

\--

Real life is a motherfucking pain in her ass, that’s right.

Santana juggles her fancy leather briefcase and pulls out her iPad, skimming through her work e-mails, heels clicking on the floor as she dances around the crowd of people coming and going.

Again, why isn’t she the kind of millionaire that lives in a cruise and hangs by the pool all day?

Her smartwatch tells her she’s got half an hour before she’s supposed to meet the conference’s organizer and go through her presentation and the debate that’ll follow.

She bites her lip and purposefully avoids checking her watch again. There’s more than enough time for a cup of coffee and going through her presentation. Also a brownie. She deserves a brownie. That’ll serve as a stand-in for all the lesbian fucking she’s not getting.

The waiter is a girl with dimples and bright blue hair, which is always a nice sight if you take into consideration that the MIT is often a boy’s club and that blue is the warmest color of lesbianism. She smiles to Santana when she brings her order, like the sexism in the technology field hasn’t crushed her spirit quite yet.

The presentation is airtight, of course, because she knows her shit.

She looks around, distracted, munching over her ending. Some grad students stare at their pcs, some people stand in line to order, not one geeky lesbian in sight.

Wait—

She frowns.

Brittany frowns right back at her.

\---

Santana stares.

Brittany is wearing a brown trench coat, a white blouse and tight black jeans and she’s walking right toward Santana, like a sexy missile with a mission to kill and what is even HAPPENING?

“Didn’t know you used glasses,” is actually the first goddamn thing that comes out of Santana’s mouth when Brittany’s standing right in front of her in all her studly glory.

“Makes me look smarter,” Brittany says, eyes very much locked with Santana’s. “Don’t you think?”

“Santana! There you are!” The conference organizer, a man with much too hair gel on his thick black hair and a bright red bowtie, comes over. “Ms. Pierce, what a pleasure.” He shakes Brittany’s hand with so much enthusiasm Santana’s head spin three times in its axis. “I just read your paper on the Yang-Mills theory and the mass gap. Amazing! Congratulations on the prize!”

Brittany blushes graciously, smiling. “Thank you, Blaine.”

A quick search on her phone tells her the prize is probably the Millennium Prize and sweet BAGEEZUS _it’s one million dollars for math!_ She stands up, Brittany gives her a glance, Blaine Warbler shakes her hand, Brittany squeezes her arm and says “see you later”, Blaine can’t stop smiling as he takes her through the corridors to the appropriate room, four hundred people are looking at her, she takes a deep breath, waves under thunderous applaud, and begins.

\--

Her presentation begins and she walks with mic in hand, pleasing the audience in the right way.

She’s a motherfucking star.

\--

There’s a small break between events, and she does the appropriate amount of question-answering on her joint partnership with the federal government and her new projects, the perfect amount of networking and charming everyone’s pants off.

She’s a pro.

Her eyes spots Brittany by the door, looking at the distance, and enough already.

Of course Brittany disappears as soon as she realizes Santana is moving, because girl is slicker than an oil spill. Santana chases long blonde hair through the crowd, to the left, to the right, entering a room.

Brittany’s sitting on the teacher’s desk.

Santana’s mind does _not_ go there, not at all. She places her bag on a chair and walks towards Brittany.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Brittany says softly, hand stretching to meet Santana’s. Her palm is soft and warm and reassuring.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice comes out much breathier and vulnerable than she intended.

“I’m invited as a lecturer.” Brittany pulls her closer, very slow, until Santana can smell her perfume. “Most of my work is at the intersection between math, computer science and some engineering.”

She’s standing right between Brittany’s legs. She takes a deep breath.

“I was an asshole.” Brittany places her hands on Santana’s waist, body leaning forward. “I’m really sorry.”

She joins their lips and fuck, Santana missed this. She missed Brittany sucking on her lower lip, tilting her head to the right just slightly before deepening the kiss, tongues sliding together wet and slick, Brittany’s palm pressing the base of her spine, promising and possessive.

Santana knows where this is going, her own hands grabbing the lapel of Brittany’s coat, the small whimper when Brittany’s tongue first reaches Santana’s neck, right below her earlobe, the wetness pooling between her legs.

She pushes Brittany’s shoulders and stops the kiss. “I—I have to go.”

“Please,” Brittany asks, staring right into the depths of Santana’s fucking soul with those pleading baby blue eyes.

“I can’t.” Santana takes a step back. “I should leave.”

She grabs her purse and runs the fuck out.

\--

The main auditorium is completely full.

There are fucking photographers and journalists along with the usual nerds and professors and researchers; it’s a goddamn press conference.

Santana stands by the door, peeking in with a few other bystanders.

A journalist raises his hand. Brittany graciously points at him.

He introduces himself as a BBC representative and looks over his notes. **“Ms. Pierce, this is a significant break from your company’s newest developments. How long had you been working on this particular problem?”**

She bites her lip, hesitates. “A year and a half.” The crowd gasps in awe. “I was backed by several institutions, though. Others had built a strong foundation before me. If Raymond Stora hadn’t coopted me into this, I would have never given it a try.”

There’s plenty of applause. The man next to Santana, who’s wearing a black leather jacket too cool for this conference, glances at her. “She’s so great. I was her TA last year.”

Santana feels like answering something like “She took my anal virginity this year,” but she doesn’t. She’s a lady.

“She’s got so many patents under her belt it’s ridiculous. Her brain works in a different way, I guess.” He looks at her and Santana nods politely. “Do you know her?”

Santana shrugs, just a little bit cocky. “Yeah. Outside work.”

“Cool. I’d kill to just hang out with her.” She nods, and they both look at Brittany again, commanding the audience’s attention with vocabulary Santana has never even heard of.

She dozes off a little during the next two questions; jacket rebel listens carefully. Someone asks her about how she came to it, if she had any kind of breakthrough – a New York Times journalist trying to give the story a spin – and Santana’s attention perks up.

Brittany smiles full of mischief. Such a little devil. “It’s a funny story, actually.”

The crowd nods, enchanted. A few vocally encourage her to go on.

“Well,” she shrugs. “Some of you know I take two-week vacations twice a year. I’ve done that since my first PhD, which was a horrible experience of trying to write something and not drop everything and go live on an island. Don’t do it.”

Everyone laughs softly. Santana glances at jacket boy, who looks like he’s in love. Brittany continues. “I needed a real vacation, so I spent two weeks working for a cruise. Cruises are awesome. No one ever talks about equations and I get to dance and meet incredible people. I come back every year.”

Santana bites her lip, trying not to get all gay and sentimental.

“I was actually dressed a cowgirl when I had that final hunch. I had been stuck for months, and then I thought: _what if_ … Things just flowed from there.” Oh. My. God. She was dresses as a cowgirl on the cruise. Right when she was going down on Santana like she was the sweetest nectar of every universe.

Brittany clears her throat. “Later, the good thing about heartbreaks is you don’t want to leave the house at all. I put all my projects on hold, stocked the wine, and submitted the paper for publication a month later.”

Heartbreaks?????????????? What??????????????????

**“You mentioned your other projects. Anything promising? What does the future hold for the most brilliant mind of our age?”**

“Well, there’s my 10-year partnership with NASA. I’m hoping they finally let me become an astronaut and go to Mars.” Everyone laughs again; Santana holds back her grin. “Oh, and I can’t say much right now, but Pierce Corporations will introduce some interesting things on October. I hope you’ll like it.”

She smiles like she’s talking about golden retriever puppies; no wonder everyone loves her. “I’ll also be a part of a knowledge exchange between several universities around the world and will spend a few months traveling abroad.”

The mediator informs the time is up and thanks Brittany for the incredible lecture. “Would you like to say something to wrap things up?”

Brittany nods. “It’s always wonderful to see an auditorium packed like this. Math is beautiful. It’s also logic and technological breakthroughs, touching so many fields at once. So far I’ve worked in computer science, mathematical physics, aerospace engineering, and astronautics. I’m hoping to work more and see more. You’re all welcome to join.”

Every single person stands up for applause.

Santana leaves the room.

\--

The bottles of wine feel heavy in her hands when she knocks on the wooden door.

It’s good to know she’s still got it, though; that she still gets invited to gatherings like this one. Mike opens the door for her, smiling so handsome like he always is.

“Long time no see.” He hugs her and takes the bottles. “Lemme take this for you. Come in, come in!” He ushers her inside.

His place is nice, a two-story house filled with books and plenty of liquor. Santana’s been there dozens of times when they worked together and through his divorce; she walks with familiarity, laughing at his jokes and enjoying his presence before fully mingling in.

She tells him about the epic cruise, but leaves Brittany out of it. He listens carefully as they walk back to the half-lit living room.

Some people are talking and drinking, sitting neatly on the couch, while some smoke and chat by the window. Others stand or dance, filling the room. Ryder, once her Marketing Director and now Mike’s Head of Development, plays DJ for the evening – he smiles at her, bangs falling on his eyes – with the help of a gigantic projection of music videos taking an entire wall.

There are enough people to make it interesting but not nearly enough to make it a raging party, which is a sure sign that Mike is becoming an old man.

Blaine immediately spots her, of course, because he can’t possibly leave her alone for a whole minute, and proceeds to introduce her to everyone, including Leather Jacket Guy, who apparently goes by Jake and is _ecstatic_ to be there.

She bears with him because she’s a professional, and there people she doesn’t know but definitely heard of her because really, who hasn’t heard of her?

She pretends she hasn’t seen Brittany by the bar, toned arms shaking that damn cocktail and enticing every single person in the room in a strapless dress and bright red lipstick like it’s the goddamn fifties or something.

Damn woman is everywhere. God.

Thankfully, Mike cuts in and saves her from exploding in frustration. “Are you drinking, milady?”

She grins, pretending not to notice the drinks on his hands. “I was promised an ample supply of booze, sir.”

“Won’t you look at that! I happen to have a dirty martini with your name on it.” He hands her the glass; it’s as delicious as it looks. She sighs in satisfaction.

Brittany is too talented for her own good.

\--

Three more drinks get to her hands, but Brittany doesn’t come to her.

For hours. Hours. Two hours. And she says she’s sorry!

Sorry people come to you and throw themselves at your feet and apologize and then go down on you to show how sorry they are. Dammit.

Blaine brings her one more strawberry martini.

She can’t stand it anymore. She walks to Brittany.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Brittany frowns a little. “Giving you drinks? You used to like my martinis.”

“You’re ignoring me!” She sounds like a whiny bitch but she’s way past the point of caring.

“Hey.” Brittany steps closer and she’s so pretty it’s unfair, blue eyes and red mouth, so tempting. “I was an asshole. I wanted you all to myself without giving you anything back.” She takes another step. “But I tried to apologize and you pushed me away.”

God, she’s one of those women who make absolutely no sense at all. Is she? “You hurt me.”

Brittany’s necklace catches the light and Santana finally sees it’s _her gift_ , it’s the silver necklace she gave Brittany on the cruise.

“I get it.” She looks at Santana’s face trying to get a read. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Santana touches the necklace, fingers grazing Brittany’s skin. “I thought you got rid of it.”

“I was just playing tough.” Brittany leans forward. “I always had it with me.”

Santana sighs and closes her eyes.

“I’m sorry I made you feel unwanted.” Brittany kisses her, soft and gentle. “When all I could think about was you.”

Well, fuck. After that Santana _has_ to kiss the lights out of Brittany, doesn’t she?

\--

Has Brittany got stronger?

She presses against Santana, pinning her to the wall, groaning in her mouth. Santana wraps her legs around Brittany’s waist, because really, that’s _so_ hot.

“So you have a cat?”

Brittany sinks her nails on Santana’s thighs, pressing their hips together, never close enough. “Mr. Tubbington,” she whimpers when Santana pulls her hair. “He has a very strong personality.”

Santana pushes her back twice until she stumbles on the bed and Santana’s all over her, pushing her dress up. “Here in town?” She settles between Brittany’s legs and kisses her lower lip, wishing she had that strap on with her.

“Yes. With my mom. We share a house.” Her breath goes ragged with Santana’s slow bites on her neck. “I also have a house in California, London and Barcelona.” She whimpers. “We could go to Barcelona.”

She turns them over and rids Santana of her very unnecessary dress. “Only after my project is released.” She settles against Santana skin on skin, and kisses her slow and wet and teasing.  “I’d also like to see my technology and health bill pass on Congress. It’s gonna be a big year.”

“So is this how it feels to be officially bigger than Google?” Brittany whispers on her ear and sweet mary mother of god, it makes Santana _wet_.

“Look who’s talking, Miss Brightest Mind of Our Age.” Santana sinks her nails on Brittany’s ass, grinding against her.

Brittany moans, hides her face in Santana’s neck as she repeats the motion again and again. “Food restrictions?”

“Japanese is gross.” Santana pushes Brittany’s underwear out of the way. “Fuck, I missed you.” She watches Brittany throw her head back, mouth parted open as Santana gather her wetness.

“Me too, honey.” Santana admits, pushing two fingers in. So tight, so wet.

Brittany holds her breath for a second. “I don’t eat red meat. I love shrimp.”

She begins to thrust, slow and steady. “Can we do the long distance thing?”

She curses under her breath, hips moving in circles against Santana’s fingers. “We take turns traveling. I can work from your house for a few days.” She leans forward, resting her weight on her palms, on the sides of Santana’s head. “You feel so good.”

Santana raises her head and joins their lips, enveloped by the feeling of _Brittany_.

\--

She wakes up in Brittany’s house, of course.

In a really nice bed.

Brittany stretches and turns to her. “We should totally get married and change the industry forever.”

Santana stops staring at her phone to give a side glance. “I don’t see no diamond ring to seal this deal.” She bites back the grin and goes back to typing. “Or at least a puppy.”

Brittany considers it. “I love puppies.”


End file.
